“The Warrior” (Heather Nield)


The warrior felt the soft mud on his cheek

The battle not over yet he excepted defeat

The horses all pranced, bucked and neighed

The sun was drowning, the light began to fade

Victory cries weren’t all he heard

Small footsteps approached which seemed so absurd

Tiny warm hands covered his eyes

A feeling so distant, the memory, he cried

A weak voice did whisper for him to get up

His heart beat faster, his blood ran so thick not unlike syrup

The hand reached down and placed it in his

The tug only meant that this child wanted him to live

His lids slightly opened and he saw such blue eyes

He saw only love, he was content to die


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